This Time It’s Different
by ElephantsInPants
Summary: Returning once more to Hogwarts to finish her schooling after the war, the least of Hermione's worries are her flashbacks of a long dead friendship, and the person she learned to loathe. Hermione now has the responsibility of being a Protector. Hermione must figure out what to do when she finds herself on the other side because this time, it’s different.
1. Prologue

"Oh come on, you can do it, Hermione!" The young bushy haired girl gives herself some much needed encouragement.

She sits cross legged in the field just a couple minutes walk from her house; she always loved coming here when she felt like getting away. She would weave around holes dug in the loose dirt on the fields edge by other neighborhood children, skip over rocks and side step around the occasional broken glass bottle until she came to the area she had grown so familiar with. Hermione had found that there was hardly anyone who would venture this far into the grassy field as the wildflowers grew tall enough to scratch and tickle the knees, and bugs of all sizes ran among all the flowers and weeds. She enjoyed the field and its solitude on most every day because it was quiet and there was no better a place to think than in quiet. Once or twice she had drifted to sleep, her arms behind her head as she laid on a patch of soft, over grown grass, only to jolt awake and have to run home as dusk had settled while she dozed. She enjoyed this solitude even more so now that she knew what abilities she possessed. Once more, Hermione scrunched up her face in concentration and glared at the small wildflower, which hovered just above her hand. But try as she might, the small yellow flower just wouldn't make its way higher than a few centimeters above her tiny palm, before it fell straight back down to her hand. It seemed to Hermione that on its short descent, the flower itself slumped in defeat much like her own shoulders.

Ever since the girl received her letter from the wizarding school Hogwarts, she couldn't help but try harder to make the strange occurrences around her happen on purpose and try to control them. Suddenly, it made sense to Hermione that whenever she were exceptionally upset why strange things happened; when she got a low mark, and the paper just turned to ash in her hands, or when Sarah Tuttle called her ugly in front of the whole class and then missed a week of school because of a very obnoxious rash. The letter that was delivered from her new Headmaster had opened so many doors for Hermione and as many questions as it answered, it left millions unanswered. Never in all of her short eleven years did she ever think she could be something as amazing and unbelievable as a witch. Oh how she wanted to rub it in the faces of all the girls at school who gave her such a hard time for being a "know-it-all". But she couldn't very well do that, Headmaster Dumbledore hadn't paid her a visit just for pleasantries.

A young girl sits at the desk placed in the corner of her tidy room, furiously writing away trying to finish some extra maths homework. Hermione was quite adamant in the fact that she would not allow her brain to turn into mush over the summer holiday. She continued, her pencil moving along the page at an impressive speed seeming to never slow or pause even though her fingers had begun to cramp five minutes ago. She'd been working for over an hour, her bushy hair an absolute mess after being cooped up in her bedroom, when the small chime of the doorbell announced a visitor.

"Hermione, would you get that dear?" A soft voice floats down from the kitchen which was currently full of the smell of beef stew - Hermione's favorite.

"Of course, mum," hopping off her desk chair she stretches, her joints make a satisfying series of pops and cracks after having been bent over her paper without a break. She even takes a brief moment to bend over and touch her toes, which only creates another chorus of snaps. Making her way down the hall past the small living room and to the front door, Hermione could just make out the rather quite tall shadow of a person behind the shade covering the door's window. Alarm bells and whistles go off immediately as soon as she pulls open the front door; this man was in the wrong place and he was very far from wherever it was that he did belong.

The man appears to be quite old perhaps as old as her own grandfather, but he didn't seem frail in any way like other men his age. He wore small half moon spectacles on his face that soft blue eyes twinkled behind, and his snowy white beard made it all the way down towards where Hermione assumed his bellybutton might be. But it wasn't the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, the very long but well groomed beard, or even the strange slippers she could see peeking out beneath his bizarre ensemble. No, what had Hermione believing that this man was in the wrong place were the long deep maroon colored robes he wore, the intricate patterns almost tricking the eye into believing they were moving. And as if that were not enough, upon his head sat a pointed hat of the same color tilted slightly to the right. Hermione was about to ask this stranger if he needed some directions, but as she opened her mouth, he spoke for her.

"Am I correct in assuming that you are Miss Hermione Jean Granger?" If possible his eyes seemed to gleam even more at what Hermione would assume was a rather comical look of confusion on her face.

"Erm, uh wuh-why ye-yes I am," usually she tried her hardest not to stumble across words as she felt it made one sound slow and as if they were not paying attention. Hermione wasn't one to be full of herself, but she definitely knew she was not slow, and she did pride herself in her attention to detail. But, with a stranger knowing her full name she found it much harder to not garble her speech.

Sensing her nervousness, he smiles warmly, "I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he reaches into his sleeve and removes a thick parchment envelope. Using very slow and precise movements, Dumbledore extends the envelope to her. It seems as if his movements are meant to not to scare her away but she can't help the twitch of her feet, instinct telling her to run and hide. The idea of denying her identity and shutting the door in his face does flit across her mind.

However, she extends her hand to meet his, against her better judgment, surprised but rather proud that her own hand is not shaking. Grabbing the envelope with both hands and holding it in front of herself, Hermione tests the weight almost like a merchant would before accepting a trade of goods. Arms still completely extended, she was nearly afraid to bring it close; it was actually quite heavy and wasn't like the thin paper she was used to. This parchment is thick and has a rough feel to it, the only thing she can possibly think to compare it to is paper that is used for very important documents, although this envelope feels even thicker.

A habit that Mrs. Granger had made her daughter aware of was her inability to keep from biting her lip when nervous, which Hermione had worked to stop ever since she had it brought to her attention; a habit that Hermione was currently, but unknowingly, doing. If what Dumbledore is telling her was true, then very clearly her life was never going to be the same, and the extent of how different it would be seemed something she could not yet even fathom.

Witches and wizards? Magic? These were things she used to play at when she was little and wanted something as silly as unicorns to exist. Hesitantly, the young girl brought her nervous brown eyes to look down upon the parchment envelope.

Across the front in a brilliant emerald green ink, an intricate slanted scrawl addressed the envelope to -

𝑀𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝐻. 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇

𝒮𝓉𝓊𝒹𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝓈𝓀

12 𝒞𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓉, 𝐿𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓃

Glancing back up to meet those strange blue eyes, she sees that the sides are wrinkled in a smile. She turns the letter over in her hands. Not able to contain herself, she quickly but carefully lifts the wax seal and brings out the first of many pieces of parchment. As she reads, she can't believe her eyes. How was she, Hermione Granger, anything more than just the insufferable know it all? And even more so, how could she possess magical ability? Once finished with the letter, Hermione looks at the man in front of her, fully intending to tell the "Dumbledore" bloke to sod off. But as she looks at him, she suddenly believes it all. Because not only did her strange accidents begin to make sense, she wanted it to be true. She wanted this unknown world to exist, because she wanted to be more than just the daughter of two dentists. She suddenly needed this to be true.

"Hermione, who is at the door?" glancing over her shoulder Hermione watchers her mother as she walks down the hall while wiping her hands dry on a clean dishtowel.

"My new headmaster," she manages weakly.

Hermione can't help but smile at the memory. After introducing himself once more to her mother and then father, Dumbledore had come inside for tea. It had been quite a sight to see him sitting in their small but very normal living room, sipping tea from a small pink teacup that he insisted on conjuring himself from seemingly nowhere. He then went on to explain the magical world that Hermione was now a part of, and that he or another would be escorting her and her parents through the wizarding world to buy school supplies in a few days time. Her parents were just as shocked as she had been, but delighted nonetheless. Dumbledore had gotten on really well with her parents, and by the time he stepped out their front door, dusk had settled and the first of the street lamps had come on.

And now here she sat, in a field, attempting to do something she once believed to exist only in dreams and fantasy. Hermione screwed up her face in concentration once more, and thought only of the small flower in her hand, and what she wanted it to do. She studied the flower, with its delicate petals, even the one that had begun to wilt since she had plucked it from its stem, the pollen that was in its middle that looked like yellow fuzz. It's nearly nonexistent weight, the petals as soft as a fall breeze that caresses the face.

Almost as if that fall caress could exist in a hot summer, suddenly the flower begins to move higher and higher, swaying slightly in the nonexistent breeze. Hermione can't help the small cry of triumph that escapes her lips as the flower now floats above her head. She had done it! She was over the moon, her heart pounding as adrenaline sped throughout her body. She was so full of triumph and excitement she imagined she could be just like her little flower and fly, maybe even higher, maybe to the moon! She could see it now, the stars and the wide open space, no one to call her bossy, or tease her about her teeth, or-

"Father said there were no wizarding families in this area," a young boy's voice from behind brings Hermione crashing back to earth.

She whips around, her bushy hair falling off her shoulder onto her back, the little flower fluttering slowly back towards the ground beside her.

"I've no idea what you're on about," Hermione feigns annoyance as she looks at the boy, the brilliant blue of his eyes turn their glare from her to follow the descent of the flower. He may be about her age, his white blond hair slicked back, his hard blue eyes staring her down. His clothing is horribly mismatched as if he didn't quite understand how to dress himself for going out in public, the neon green of his socks especially contrasts against the peach color of his sweater.

The boy snorts, "Oh please, it's obvious what you were doing," he takes a half step closer, "Yet you aren't very good are you?"

"Oh, and you could do better?" Hermione crosses her arms as she glares at him. Who did he think he was anyway, waltzing up here demanding to know her business?

"Well I can't very well be doing magic," he retorts rather defensively, "Or have your parents forgotten to tell you underage magic is illegal outside of school?"

Hermione can feel her bottom lip curl in and her teeth clamp down but almost of their own accord, and she can't help the sudden flow of words from her mouth, "I won't be kicked out will I? I've only just found out what I am, and I can't have it taken away from me," she steps forward, grabbing the boy's forearm, looking desperately into his surprised eyes.

"What d'you mean you've only just found out?" Before Hermione has the chance to respond a look of realization falls upon the boy's chubby face. "Y-you're a muggle-born!" He accuses, taking a sudden step back and wrenching his arm from Hermione's grasp. At first Hermione is taken aback but then she remembers that Dumbledore didn't have just happy things to discuss; he explained to her and her parents about some wizards and witches and what they thought of those born to non-magical people. For every amazing thing she had learned that day of Dumbledore's visit, Hermione realized that this new world wasn't just magic and sunshine. There were hints of things dark and dangerous, things she assumed were incomprehensible to her as she knew next to nothing about this new world she was suddenly apart of, but she figured for every great discovery in life was an equally great travesty.

The usual soft brown eyes are hard and angry, "Oh I get it," Hermione tries her hardest to put as much venom into her voice as possible. "You're one of those kinds. If muggles are so disgusting to you, why are you here?" she challenges. A look of almost fear crosses the boys face, and then is replaced by feigned smugness, "My dad is on important business for a fellow associate. Or else we wouldn't be caught in such a disgraceful place," he finishes, glancing around at all the tall weeds and dirt.

"Well if I'm such a disgrace, why don't you leave me be?" She turns on her heel and walks further into the field, the over growth so tall here as she sits she is hidden and lost amongst the weeds. Rather fitting, she thinks angrily. Even in this new world, all Hermione was ever meant to be was a weed amongst all the flowers. She reaches out her small fist and grabs a bundle of dried dead weeds, tugging them from the dirt. She watches the dirt crumble and tiny insects fall from the roots. 'I suppose I could make the weeds fly', she thinks to herself as she chucks the plant as far as she can. Her anger quickly dissipates and is replaced by a sad yearning. What she wants most is just to fit in somewhere, and she had hoped this new world would be her place.

"You left this behind," looking over her shoulder, the boy walks to her, his steps hesitant and his face somber. He reaches out his hand, the yellow flower contrasting greatly against his ivory skin. Hermione gets up slowly and faces him, gingerly plucking the flower from his upturned palm.

He gives her the smallest of smiles, "Draco Malfoy."


	2. 1

Bustling business men and women push their way past each other in the busy station as guards holler in an attempt to maintain the chaotic order of King's Cross. The morning commute had just begun to take off and with each person thinking about the long day ahead there was no room to pay any mind to the young brunette woman standing between platforms nine and ten. Her hand rests on the trolley parked beside her that holds a rather large trunk alongside a pet carrier, and although it is impossible to see what sits inside, a solemn meow escapes occasionally. As she waits for her parents to emerge from the sea of people, her honey eyes study the barrier, covered in dirt and grime with gum stuck in random places between the maroon bricks. The occasional poster advertises everything from new up and coming bands to a number of politicians, most of which have been graffitied with crude drawings. A shadow of the faintest smile plays around the young woman's full lips.

Hermione Granger is going back for her seventh and final year at Hogwarts, and she can't help the feel of giddy excitement that is deep in her stomach, coupled with apprehension and anxiety ridden butterflies. She had vowed all summer long that this year was going to be unlike every other, and that this year was to hopefully be a full term without any unwanted excitement and nothing but her own classes to occupy her time. This of course was riding on the fact that McGonagall would not be furious for her lack of response to the letter she had received over the Summer holiday. The one threat to Hermione's goal of a normal school year was the letter that had arrived only a week into her holiday.

Her mother and father had begun to leave their kitchen window open Hermione's second year whenever weather permitted- Mrs. Granger had grown tired of having to clean or replace windows because of persistent owls, so it was not uncommon to have an owl swoop into the kitchen over that morning's breakfast. So it had been nothing from the ordinary when Hermione shuffled into the kitchen wanting nothing more than a cup of coffee, her hair tousled from a deep sleep and her parents gone already to work. She turned on the coffee pot with a flick of her wand, and poured herself a hearty bowl of the first box of cereal her hand grabbed atop the fridge- another one of mum's weird fiber brans to get things moving. She had just placed her bowl on the table and taken a seat, when a large tawny owl flew gracefully through the window to land right next to her bowl.

It looked at her with big round eyes, "Did Ron finally get tired of Pig and give him to Ginny?" Hermione chuckled, stroking its feathers while undoing the letter from its leg. It was unusual for her friends to already be writing; normally it would be at least two weeks into the holiday before something exciting enough happened to warrant a letter. She figured whatever it was could wait until she at least had coffee in hand and was about to toss the envelope onto the table when she noticed the emerald green ink. The owl flew back out the window just as Hermione ripped into the letter then deciding her coffee could wait.

Hermione had not known what to say then; she immediately took quill to parchment and sent letters to her friends, but try as she might, she did not know how to respond to her new Headmistress. And so she didn't. Everyday, no matter what she was doing, her thoughts would return back to McGonagall's request and Hermione would face a battle within herself. Nobody would blame her if she said no- she had quite an eventful school history and she had just wanted one year to be simple and easy. McGonagall hadn't said much in the letter but offered the new position and said they would speak more in person. She had never been the type of student to ignore a professor, let alone a Headmaster. But for once, she did not have an answer.

After everything she had done, could she really deny McGonagall this help? Hermione agreed that students should be more prepared for certain situations as McGonagall had stated in the letter, but did this mean she should agree and take on the responsibility?

"Hermione dear, are you sure you don't want us to walk you onto the platform?" Her mother's brow is creased with worry, the laugh lines that frame her usual smile accent her frown. Her mother and father finally made it through the crowd to stand with their daughter at the platform; Hermione hadn't spoken to her parents about the letter but her mother could tell that something had been bothering her nearly the entire summer. It didn't help that her parents, particularly her mother, still felt guilty about spending quite a fortune in Australia, even after Hermione's insisting that it was her doing they had no recollection of their daughter. Once everything had been settled after the war, Hermione had begun the search for her parents in Australia; it had seemed that without a daughter the pair had been much more adventurous as they filled most of their time with dangerous activities such as sky diving and very risky rock climbing adventures. But since their reunion, they nearly smothered Hermione in an attempt to make up for their absence, and would not leave Hermione's side but for work and sleep.

Before she is able to reassure her mother once more, Mr. Granger cuts in, "Honey, Hermione has already explained the likely swarming crowd that will be on the platform waiting for our little hero," he gives his daughter a proud smile as she blushes a deep scarlet, the color traveling from her face down her neck. She had still yet to give her parents the gruesome details of the war, and granted the smallest version with the least amount of horror possible. They had heard some about the war as they attended a ceremony to celebrate Fred Weasley over the Summer, which focused mainly on triumphs and Fred's love for fun. They did know about Voldemort, mostly just his name, and they did not know the true horror that he had been. Hermione now hoped nobody else would ever have to know.

Glancing at his watch Mr. Granger leans in and plants a kiss atop his daughter's head, "My oh my, and if we do not get a move on, Hermione won't be the only one late. I have a root canal in one hour." He gives his daughter another proud smile and then, "D'you remember how bushy that mane of yours was the first time we brought you to this station for you know what?" He whispers the last part as he bumps Hermione with his elbow. Hermione chuckles but little did her father know that her hair was still horribly bushy, she had just learned a few tricks to help manage it. Hermione's mother rushes her and engulfs her daughter in a hug, "Please be safe this year, 'Mione," she doesn't let go of her daughter but holds her at arm's length and studies her face.

"You've grown into such a beautiful and strong young lady. Your father and I both love you dearly," she gives Hermione yet another hug, and she plants a kiss on her cheek. Hermione's parents say one last goodbye before turning on their heels; she smiles in the direction they go, watching until their retreating forms are lost to the crowd. Another calming breath and she walks her trolley closer to the barrier between platforms nine and ten. She studies the big looming brick pillar; to think that something so ordinary hid such a world.

Hermione grabs Crookshanks' carrying case in one hand, and her big oversized trunk in the other, and makes a beeline for the wall that will bring her to the world she belongs, at first a brisk walk and then a full run.

A man and a woman hug their bushy haired daughter goodbye for what seems like the tenth time. Draco Malfoy rolls his eyes from behind the compartment window; he doesn't understand why muggles make such a big deal about going away to Hogwarts. His parents hugged him once and were off to work at the ministry immediately, and he almost preferred it that way. It worked in his favor as he was currently keeping quite the secret. Draco can't help the mixture of excitement and nervousness that swells inside him as Hermione finally says goodbye and boards the train; he and Hermione had been secretly corresponding all Summer, and now finally after all those months of waiting, they would be able to speak freely.

Draco's father had wanted to get rid of the ugly little barn owl that his traitor aunt had gifted him, but Draco's mother argued it would be a waste. So it was agreed he could keep it, but his father still detested it, and demanded that it could only fly to and from his bedroom window. And in doing so, his father only made it that much easier for Draco and Hermione to communicate over the Summer. After spending hours in the empty field together, a bud of friendship had sprouted, and with each correspondence that the brown little owl had brought back from the girl and boy, the bud became a flower. They had agreed to sit together on the ride to Hogwarts, so they could talk to each other, without parchment and quill. Draco had even managed to ditch his father's companions' sons, Crabe and Goyle, so he could sit with her. He of course realized if the boys found them, he could just try and avoid the topic of blood status, but Draco also knew his new friend fairly well. Hermione had numerous questions about everything from simple to the complex. It would be rather hard to deny her muggle born status once she began the slew of questions that Draco was sure she had saved just for the ride to Hogwarts. He had done his best through their letters to try and explain his life- it was quite strange explaining such ordinary things to another. Like when Draco had started to get a summer cold, and he mentioned his mother had given him a potion, Hermione had been in such awe that he could nearly feel it coming across through the parchment. He was then appalled to learn that if Hermione were to get sick she had to either suffer and let her body take care of it, or go and get some type of letter to even get a potion. Regardless of what they spoke about in their letters, Draco had had the best summer he could remember- he was so used to being isolated and not having anyone to talk to beside the house elves as it seemed his mother and father were always in meetings.

"Draco! How have you been?" Hermione slides the compartment door open and immediately wraps her arms around her friend. Before he can react she quickly withdraws her arms and blushes a deep scarlet.

"Erm, I've buh-been great," Draco stumbles over his words, "...Herm," he adds on the nickname she hated to try and distract from the obvious nervousness. He actually had discovered the gem of a nickname by total accident; whenever he would write to her, he had to be extra careful to not get caught as he didn't need any questions as questions only led to suspicion. One night when he was beginning a letter his mother had opened his bedroom door and he quickly had to shuffle around the parchment on his desk. When she finally left, he had forgotten that he was writing her name and left it unfinished; she had made the mistake of asking if Draco had purposely called her Herm, and then it had stuck.

She simply rolls her eyes and Draco figures his plan was a success because she moves on, "So how was your holiday?"

They hadn't been talking long before a timid hand slid open their compartment door and Draco stops mid-sentence, suddenly very tense until he sees who the hand belongs to.

"H-have either of you seen a toad, erm I've lost mine?" A rather plump boy is near tears, his face flushed as he goes to wipe his nose before the snot can drip onto his lip.

Draco can't help the look of disgust, "How could we see a toad if we've been in the compartment the entire time?" he sneers. Hermione elbows him in his gut and glares at her friend.

She turns her gaze onto the boy, giving him a much softer look, "Where's the last place you saw it?" Draco rolls his eyes at the window, how could she be so nice to such a sniveling baby?

"Well, I'm pretty sure I had Trevor when I got onto the train.." he offers, slowly trailing off.

Draco snorts, "I know you must realize how dumb that sounds, if you left him at the train station he's as good as dead."

"Draco!" Hermione gasps, standing abruptly. " How could you even say that? I'll help you look for your toad," she glares at Malfoy and turns on her heel, the two stepping out of the compartment.

"Herm," Draco sighs and moves to the aisle, watching as the boy and a mop of bushy hair stop at the compartment door next to theirs.

"I'm Hermione Granger, what's your name?" He can tell Hermione knows he's watching, but her eyes don't so much as flick in his direction.

"Erm, Neville Longbottom," he glances at Draco, clearly uncomfortable with being watched. "Uh-um did you know that you were sitting with-" the compartment door slides shut easily with a nudge of his arm. Draco sits back and watches the country side fly by his window. Suddenly, he isn't so excited to go to the sorting.

Hermione watches as fields pass by, her breath fogging up the glass with each exhale, then disappearing with every inhale. A part of her is excited to be going back, but there's a more timid part that she's yet to let anybody see. A part that is still scared. Nobody has been back to the castle since the war, and who is to say everyone will be okay? No matter the repairs and the restoration, people saw their friends and family die there, and that can't be fixed with a new building. Hermiome takes a glance over at Ginny, sitting across the compartment snuggled up to Harry, his arm slung lazily over her shoulder, the other hand clutching a worn piece of parchment. Ron sits next to the compartment door, his lap full of sweets. After everything, they've managed to stay together. She goes back to looking out the window, knowing the train moves too fast to see anything, yet still watching for something.

"Right, Hermione? Helloooo," Ginny reaches over and waves her hand in front of Hermione's face.

Hermione blinks, "Oh erm, I'm sorry, what did you say?" A blush creeps its way up her neck at having been caught zoning out once more.

"Bloody Hell Hermione, you're worse than Neville right now," Ron jokes, a chocolate frog trying to wriggle free of his hands.

"Did you not get a lot of sleep last night?" Harry asks, his brows knitting together in concern, his eyes glance once move over the parchment. The letter has been roughly handled, unfolded and refolded with so many creases that not one person would be able to tell which were the first; there is a tea stain in one corner causing some of the ink to bleed but each word was as legible as when she had first received it. Many sleepless nights were spent by Hermione sat at her study desk just staring at the letter, trying to figure out what to do as if it would tell her.

Trying to make light, Ginny jokes, "Ooh yeah, did you not sleep because of extracurriculars," she waggles her eyebrows at her friend and winks.

Hermione laughs but only half-heartedly; since the war ended Ginny insisted that Hermione needed to either settle down or get a friend with benefits. It was Ginny's belief that since everyone had been so busy with trying not to die, they hadn't been able to release any type of sexual tension. In one of Ron's letters to Hermione he explained that he was going to jinx off his own ears if he heard his best friend and sister one more time. Hermione did sort of agree with Ginny in the fact that many had missed out on a lot, but not necessarily sex; Ginny said the only reason that Hermione felt that way was because she was still a virgin. Hermione hadn't written back for a week.

The red head shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, "Well then maybe it was just Harry and I that decided to be smart and use the last night before we got to Hogwarts."

"Ugh Merlin's beard Ginny, you're still my sister!" Ginny just sniggers while Harry at least has the decency to look embarrassed.

"Anyway, let's get back to this letter and the whole Protector thing as I'm sure that's why you're spacing worse than Luna." It always did amaze Hermione how Ginny could go from being so immature to serious in a matter of seconds.

"Relax Hermione, it canff be thaa baff," Ginny rolls her eyes at Ron who can't manage to speak around the food crammed in his mouth.

"Yeah Hermione," interjects Harry, "It's probably not that big of a deal if you tell McGonagall no. It's really draining you."

Ginny nods her head in agreement, and for the first time Hermione actually felt how exhausted she was. When Ginny had found her boarding the train, she nearly shrieked, claiming the dark circles under Hermione's eyes would put even a banshee to shame. Not even Madame Astra's concealing potion could completely rid of them, and Ginny had insisted putting a horrible amount beneath Hermione's eyes as soon as they'd settled into their compartment.

Hermione sighs, "It's just so much more complicated than saying yes or no," she had worried that her friends wouldn't take it to heart like she was. Hermione had always been the over thinker of the group, and no decision she made was ever on a whim; no matter how easily the others put this whole ordeal off, she couldn't help but feel that McGonagall had asked her for a reason. She knew it wasn't something like being Head Girl, and Hermione was actually thankful for that; she didn't want the title after all these years of trying to attain it. The responsibility had been given to Luna, and Head boy was to be Neville. Both had shown so much strength and leadership during the war there wasn't a more deserving pair. But in her letter, McGonagall had said things like "students will not be unaware again" and, "to preserve safety". Harry had proved that he was strong at dueling, even Ginny's jinxes had more power than most of Hermione's spells, and Ron being the most likable could control any crowd. Each of her friends had more reasons as to why they should have received their new Headmistress's letter, yet Hermione was the one it had come to. She takes the letter from Harry and smooths it onto her lap once more, studying each word as if it were written in code.

Ginny gingerly plucks the letter from her friend's lap, ignoring her protests, folds it neatly and tucks it away out of sight. "Well, I've got something else that may get your mind off this," Ginny's voice is suddenly very serious as she scoots forward in her seat, looking each of them in the eyes before continuing.

"I overheard dad telling this to mum, but apparently he was talking to Shacklebolt who let slip that McGonagall asked Malfoy to come back to Hogwarts." Harry grumbles something that can't be heard over the sound of Ron, who had taken a sip of iced pumpkin juice at the wrong time and promptly started choking.

Ginny rolls her eyes at her brother as he coughs and Harry sighs loudly, "McGonagall talked to me at Fred's celebration of life. She had asked me what I thought of Malfoy but never did I think this would be the reason why."

Finally being able to clear his throat Ron guffaws, "Bloody hell mate, what in Merlin's beard did you say to have her ask that prat to come back?"

"Oh come off it!" Harry's face flushes immediately as he gets defensive, "All I said was that he was definitely forced into majority of what he was accused of, and that while he is an arse, he got dealt a shitty hand and did what he had to survive. More or less what I said for the trial."

Ron opens his mouth again, most likely to throw another insult about Malfoy, but Ginny cuts him off, "What's more, Shacklebolt said McGonagall had done so asking him to help with the "safety" of students," she uses her fingers to put imaginary quotes around the most ironic word of what she has just said. Safety and Draco Malfoy were not something that had ever, nor should ever, be paired together. They were polar opposites, like ice and fire- Hell, like Hermione and Malfoy. It just didn't mix, it couldn't, it was impossible. And then all at once, Hermione understood.

"I personally would like to know what the Hell McGonagall is doing asking-" Harry starts but Hermione has stopped listening.

"Guys," Hermione interrupts Ron as he goes on a flurry of ferret related insults. "McGonagall isn't only asking me for help."

The three look at each other then glance back over to Hermione and stare, each one gives Hermione a look as if she is slow. She knows the look because it was something that she regularly used on those three, and she did not much prefer to be on the receiving end.

"Hermione," Ginny starts slowly, "We know? Makes perfectly good sense to ask you, but to ask Malfoy to come back?"

Hermione stands and stomps her foot, "No no, its you three that don't know. Don't you get it?" How could they be so daft? In the letter received by McGonagall, she had requested Hermione to aide in the safety and protection of students. She had even passed the letter around for each of them to read for Merlin's sake!

"Gin, you're a stronger spell caster, Harry can duel better than anyone, and for Merlin's sake somehow Ronald has crowd appeal-

"Hey!"

"- But there's something all three of you could never and still cannot do!"

Again Hermione has three pairs of eyes staring at her blankly, except this time Ron has his arms crossed and his lips form a strong pout.

Hermione nearly pulls her hair in frustration, "Not one of you could ever work with Malfoy! Don't you three get it? We got the same letter! We're both to be Protectors!"

"Ah bloody hell."


End file.
